Tissues and Teacups
by dragoon811
Summary: Reason why fanfic authors should not be inspired while ill #43 - Severus will shamelessly seduce Hermione, no matter how poorly he feels. The man has determination, what can I say? Rated MA. (no update, just fixing a few errors)
1. Chapter 1: Tissues and Teacups

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the world, or the characters. Nor am I J.K. Rowling. As such, I am making no money from this story. If you think I am, you are sorely mistaken and I highly recommend revisiting primary school. Clearly, you need to relearn the basics.

Author's Note: This is what happens when you wake in the middle of the night to find plot bunnies gnawing on your toes. I mean, honestly. Knock it off, I'm _sick_.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Tissues & Teacups**

Sliding her arm around his waist, she ran her hand over the downy hairs of his treasure trail, and pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade. Spooning against his back, she sighed softly in relief. His deep, steady breaths soothed her, now that he'd stopped coughing long enough to fall asleep.

Allergic to Pepper Up, Severus had spent the past few days ill, leaving trails of tissues from one room to another. He refused to use handkerchiefs when he had a cold, claiming it was unsanitary, cleansing charms or no. They were _everywhere_ – tucked haphazardly into pockets, and dropped as his thin frame was wracked with coughs, or tossed with a scowl at a waste bin, bouncing off the rims to join their sodden compatriots on the hardwood floors.

She was sick to death of finding them scattered on the kitchen table, tucked into the side of 'his' armchair (it had been hers,and he had sneered at the colour and refusing to even try sitting in it, before one day simply claiming it as his seat and refusing to budge), and piled on the bedside table, covering his current book and reading glasses.

But he was sleeping now, she reminded herself. He snored lightly through the single, ever-elusive "unclogged nostril". The man was an absolute _bear_ when ill, Hermione admitted to herself. He was lucky he was mostly impervious to colds, because by the third day she was usually tempted to smother him with a pillow.

The temperature in the house was too hot. Then it was too cold, and she hadn't bloody changed a thing. He couldn't sleep with just a sheet over him, complaining that he was sweating and overly-warm, but without it he snarled that he was "simply frigid".

He didn't want steaming showers, or bed rest. He snapped and growled between sniffles. He sulked about with his dressing gown loosely belted over his pajama bottoms, looking as fierce and foreboding as he could manage in slippers. Even attempting to cough up a lung, she found the exposed flesh of his lightly-furred chest attractive, no matter how much he sniped at her for "fussing".

He most certainly Did Not Want Soup. He went from deciding that he was too sick and it was too much work to prepare meals, so that he would just starve - he wouldn't even acquiesce to her ordering take-away (she did it anyway), and she had to nag him to eat, until after bouts of claiming starvation was the only way to kill the cold, he would suddenly have the urge to prepare elaborate, healthy meals to "aid in his recovery". She found each one scrumptious, but he couldn't even taste them properly.

And he refused juices and broths, or any number of suggested Muggle remedies to circumvent his Pepper Up allergies to nip his cold in the bud.

He was, however, going through her favorite tea (a Christmas gift from Minerva) like mad, and she was tired of finding half-drunk cups of it scattered through the house. Hermione had even found one set on the stairs, just sitting there, forlorn and forgotten. She'd unearthed two from his desk earlier, buried under three research scrolls, each on different topics.

That was another thing he did. On days he was well, his researching was kept to the office/library, and the basement laboratory.

When he was sick, however, Severus stalked about, muttering to himself and prone to moments of inspiration. Hearing him curse under his breath as he fumbled for a scrape of parchment in his normally-pristine office or searched for the quill tucked behind his ear made her smile.

Even if he _did_ thud up and down the stairs and traverse from room to room with a sloshing teacup, sniffling and tucking tissues absent-mindedly into his pocket, from where they fell, turning trails of tissues into thoroughfares.

But he wasn't coughing, she told herself sternly. She loved him, and was just going to have to keep forgiving him for the annoyances.

Hermione curled her knees up to the backs of his legs for warmth, and nuzzled his shoulder blade again as she petted the hair on his belly, pressing her lips against her favourite mole there. She would never tell him about it. It had been an odd shape to begin with, she was certain. But somewhere through the course of his life, it'd been bisected by a scar, and now looked absurdly like a lopsided smiley face.

Yes, definitely something to never tell Severus.

The man in question inhaled deeply. "Keep kissing me, and I am liable to take it as an invitation."

His voice was scratchy, and she ducked her head. "You're supposed to be sleeping."

"I was." The emphasis was heavy on the last word.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, love." The endearment came easier to him now than it had at first. Grasping the hand on his stomach, he lowered it the hard length in his bottoms. "I most certainly am not."

"You're sick," Hermione protested softly, even as she caressed him gently. They could never seem to get enough of each other, and the past few days he'd felt so horrid that she'd taken to pleasing herself quietly in the shower. "You should be resting."

"I've rested. I feel well enough for this," Severus replied, rolling to face her. The motion dislodged the tissues on his side of the bed, and they tumbled to the floor beside the partially-drunk tea. One wadded ball managed to land _in_ the cup, quickly going soggy. He cleared his throat.

"Hermione," he said silkily, cupping the side of her face and kissing her gently. "My Hermione..."

"Yes, Severus?" she replied, feeling a little breathless at the gesture.

"Surely physical activity, especially such a one that increases blood flow and encourages proper oxygen intake, can only facilitate the healing process," he murmured as his lips moved down to seek her neck.

"Severus... are you sure you're well enough for this?"

He mumbled something into the curve of her shoulder that sounded suspiciously vulgar, but then he began sucking on _that_ spot, and she slid her arms around to his back, running her hands over the scars, tracing the one that made that mole her favorite, and exhaled in pleasure.

"Severus, really...I think... we should...wait until... you're better...ooh, no cheating!"

"Cheating?" He drew back, dark eyes glinting, all pale skin and wiry frame and he tossed his hair out of his face. "_Cheating_, Hermione? I don't _cheat_. I _win._"

"I know, but -"

"But nothing." He slid hand under her nightgown, pushing it up to expose a breast. "Don't be such a bossy chit. I appreciate the concern for my health, love, but it has been torment."

He thumbed her nipple and dipped his head to lave it as it pebbled in the cool air of their bedroom. "You are not stealthy, Hermione. I have _heard_ you in the shower. I _know_ you have missed me these past days, as I have wanted you. Let me fulfill your desires, sate what your own hand cannot bring you..."

She whimpered. It wasn't fair of him to use her name in that voice. Even rough from sickness, it still melted over her. He raised his head, giving her a lustful, penetrating look, as if he could pierce her soul with those glittering black eyes. She was so close to giving in to him...

"I have missed you, love. Can you not tell?" He clipped each syllable, brushing his hips against her. He was achingly hard inside the soft cotton. Oh, yes. She could definitely tell. There was no mistaking _that_ reaction from him.

Lowering his head back to her breast, he sucked at her, flicking the tip with his tongue. Puffing out breaths between his ministrations, he slid his hand down to her knickers to press against her, so close but so far from where she suddenly very much wanted him. "Tell me yes, Hermione... trust me to know my own limitations... let me pleasure you, let me fill you..."

"Oh, yes," Hermione moaned out. "Severus, please..."

He groaned and nuzzled her other breast, pressing a kiss to her softness, and sat up suddenly, tugging at her dress.

"Off," he demanded, rising to divest himself of his pajama bottoms. He only wore the damn things when ill because he couldn't be bothered to dress properly, and much preferred to sleep nude so that he would have easy access to his wife.

Hermione pulled her nightdress over her head and tossed it aside. She reached for her knickers, but Severus was already on the bed again, large hand on her hip, tugging at the material. They both tried to shift, to peel them off, and he growled in frustration, settling for snapping the elastic and ripping them off her. She protested the destruction of perfectly functional clothing, but he covered her mouth with his, kissing her deeply.

She'd be lying if she didn't admit that that had turned her on. He'd never torn her clothes off, not even just her knickers, and she felt so wanton, so desired...

"Severus," she moaned as he moved to her neck again.

Running her hands down his chest, he pressed her against the bed, and she pinched his nipples, just to hear him groan, deep and sexy in her ear. "Oh, yes, Hermione..."

She knew just what he liked, and she reveled in her power to make him groan again, sliding her hands down to grasp his arse, grinding her hips against his cock. He thrust forward inelegantly, and bit at her breast playfully.

"Don't rush, love," he whispered hoarsely. "We have all the time we need... and I want to make you scream."

Whimpering, she jerked her hips against him with each teasing twist of her nipples, accompanied by tugs of crooked teeth and wet tongue. "Oh, Severus..."

"Mmm, Hermione," he planted a kiss between her breasts, inching a hand lower, between her thighs. "Open for me, love, let me touch you... caress you..."

Eagerly complying, she moved her knees apart and moved her hands to his head. His hair was greasy from refusing to shower, but she didn't care. All she cared about was touching him as he sucked her breasts and dipped a finger into her.

"Oh, so wet..." A second finger joined the first, slipping inside her to rub at that special spot. "So tight, Hermione...but I can make you tighter, can't I?"

He'd always reveled in the prowess of his long, dextrous fingers, and he put them to good use now. Moving back up to her clit, he began to draw those gently, tiny circles that spread the fire in her. He loved watching her eyes fall shut, and avidly watched the flush spread from her breasts to her cheeks. His breathing quickened as she started to gasp, twisting her fingers in the strands of his hair.

"Oh," she breathed out. It felt like fire, every time. It built in her, gathering there, and she wanted could hear her pulse in her ears, all of her being focused at the place he was rubbing. "Sev-sev-sev-sev-Severuuuus – in! In! Oh, please, love, in me, oh please..."

He groaned and tore his fingers from her clit and moved between her thighs, guiding his cock into place. He loved reducing to her to his name and single syllables. That she loved him and wanted him and desired him was an aphrodisiac to him.

"So tight," he moaned as his chest constricted. She was so close to coming, her body gripping him tightly. "So wet, my love, so perfect...so good..."

Leaning forward, he laced his fingers with hers and pinned her hands and either side of her head. Dropping a kiss to her lips, he situated himself a little deeper and began to move. _So good._ _So tight. So wet. And mine, all mine, always mine..._

"Severus," she whimpered. He felt so good, so thick in her as he began to thrust, angling his hips to hit the spot he knew would turn her into a quivering, gasping mess. She could feel his wedding band digging into her fingers, but she didn't care, couldn't care, and clung to his hands as she moved under him.

"Hermione," he groaned in return. She always closed her eyes – he knew she couldn't keep them open, and yet he couldn't close his. He wanted to watch her, watch her face flame, watch her lips form the syllables of his name. She felt so good under him, he wanted to come, but wanted to bring her first, have her arch under him...

As if sensing his thoughts, Hermione cried his name and shook, wet and pulsing around him and he moved faster, harder. _So good, so good, oh, yes, my Hermione, my love..._

Oh, it felt amazing. He was thick and hard and she could feel him hitting _that_ place, and then she was throbbing, arching underneath him, tightening her hold on his hands until her knuckles turned white, and her toes curled as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Oh, Severus!" she cried as he doubled his efforts, pounding into her quick and hard through her orgasm.

His chest was burning and constricted, his air wheezing through his lungs. But she was so wet, so tight, so perfect, and all his... Almost there...so close...oh, yes, oh, yes, oh...

"Hermione!" he groaned, eyes wide, pupils dilated and cheeks flushed, and he thrust again helpless and he throbbed, coming in long, satisfying spurts deep inside his wife.

Panting, he collapsed on top of her, trembling with the exertion even as he wrapped her in his arms. Alarmed, Hermione stroked his back soothingly. Severus coughed, a painful, scraping sound, and his heart was pounding at a frightening pace.

It was some time before his racing heart calmed and his breathing went from wheezing to ragged to smooth.

"Worth it," he rasped, and lifted his head to regard her with a smug smirk. She slapped his shoulder blade lightly.

Severus rolled onto his back, gathering her to his side, and she rested her head on his chest gratefully, combing her fingers through the hair there. He coughed again, harshly.

"Sorry," he muttered sourly once the fit had subsided. He reached for a tissue, dabbing at his nose before crumpling it and letting it drop into the teacup on the floor. She frowned at his actions, but didn't have the energy to protest.

"Hermione." His voice was scratchy again. Worth it, yes, but they really shouldn't have indulged. She just couldn't resist him.

"Mmm?"

"What the fuck is this about a – a 'smiley face mole' on my back?"

"Severus! You cheater! You used Legilimency on me again!" Even horrified at his under-handed tactics to see if she'd been wavering in her stance, she couldn't help the giggles that bubbled up inside her, and buried her face in his chest, laughing.

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Hope you enjoyed!

Eventually, there will be a chapter 2!

Eventually.


	2. Chapter 2: Soup and Sarcasm

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the world, or the characters. Nor am I J.K. Rowling. As such, I am making no money from this story. If you think I am, you are sorely mistaken and I highly recommend revisiting primary school. Clearly, you need to relearn the basics.

Author's Note: This is probably the last chapter. No, really. It's short. It's just PWP.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Soup and Sarcasm**

Hermione whimpered and threw her leg over his, pressing her face into the hair of his chest for comfort, inhaling his masculine scent and burrowing closer for warmth. This was awful. She was hungry (again), horny beyond belief, and freezing, despite the weight of blankets, sheets, and thick down comforter that slicked his skin with sweat. She would have liked to have blamed the January chill of his dungeon chambers for it, but, no. It was a bloody cold, he was blessedly warm beside her, but she was sick and needed _more_.

Severus huffed about a breath in frustration. "Merlin, Hermione, it's too bloody hot for this. Go back to your side."

"I don't feel well," she mumbled to his nipple. Her chest grew tight and she turned her head, coughing into his armpit. His arm twitched; Severus was surprisingly ticklish.

"Clearly." Severus's voice was heavy with sleep and annoyance, but the hand that lifted to idly stroke her spine was gentle. He obviously wanted to fall back asleep before she entwined herself any further around him.

"I want soup. You got me sick," Hermione told him accusingly.

"Oh, yes, I got you sick, Hermione," his tone edged on scathing. "I've kept the germs from my summer cold -which you did not, of course, catch at the time- on stasis, just for you. I've planted them about our quarters for the perverse pleasure I derive from being ordered about by your whims."

"I want soup. My throat hurts." She was getting sulky as she rubbed up against him.

"Tomorrow," he replied after a moment. "Or call a house elf. Now – sleep."

Hermione sulked a good deal more, running her fingers though his chest hair, pressing the swell of her belly against him, before giving up. He smiled in silent victory; she never called an elf into their rooms if she could help it.

* * *

Usually, Severus reflected, waking up with Hermione was pleasant. He would rise first, shower, dress, and prepare tea in the small kitchen provided in Hogwarts's staff quarters. By the time the leaves had steeped, she would be stumbling into the kitchen, hair a mess, but awake. She would toast bread by the fire, using orange marmalade with a small smile and an off-comment about a plush bear, and he would double-check that he had his scrolls and lesson plans for the day.

On rare occasions, she rose with him, and they would shower together, or stay abed amongst the covers. Those mornings, she giggled and took the Floo to work with mussed hair and rumpled robes as she blew him a kiss, and he watched his students quail in terror, trying to figure out why their Potions Master was nearly smiling.

However, when _she_ was the one sick, she was demanding. Petulant. Sulky. She clung to him like Devil's Snare. And, though he would _not_ be telling it to her face while her "hormones" skittered about, she was downright childish.

Oh, he knew that when he was ill, he was impossible. He just wanted to be left alone and to get better, and wondered if that came from having had to have been self-reliant for nearly all his life. Hermione, on the other hand, seemed to almost revel in her illness. She wanted soup. She wanted cuddles. She wanted him to bring her tea. She wanted a blazing fire. She wanted to sleep all day.

It didn't help that when _he'd _been ill over the summer that he'd neatly forgotten about little important things... like contraception charms. So she didn't _just_ want soup. She wanted the soup she'd had in Paris over summer hols (managed easily enough, he was a good enough Legilimens to view the memory with sensory input, and a bloody good Potions Master to recreate said bloody soup). She wanted _sex every five minutes_, not cuddles. She wanted tea, but it had to be decaf – with honey, not sugar. She wanted a fire, then she was too warm, and then she wanted a blanket tucked about her just so. She wanted his attention nearly constantly, and he'd developed a twitch under his eye from it all.

He was sorely tempted to Apparate her to London and dump her at her parents's door, knowing that Monica would whisk her off to her childhood bedroom and mother her into good health. In truth, he _wanted_ to make love to her. She was gorgeous now, rounded and feminine, a physical sign that she had chosen him, belonged with him.

Even if "that horrid Skeeter woman" _had_ written pernicious articles that speculated on their sex life. (It wasn't that he _didn't_, on occasion, tie her to the bed and fuck her senseless, but it was not by any means the norm, and he'd be damned let it get out that, yes, Hermione had reverse the tables and he'd been happily shagged into submission by his petite wife.)

In her sleep, Hermione turned and nuzzled his chest again, and he froze as her breath puffed out, warm and moist, against his nipple. Making love to his wife would not hurt their child, he'd been reassured by Hermione. And Monica (he'd like to forget _that_ particular speech, and was still tempted to Obliviate himself). And Poppy. And the Healers at St Mungo's. He was deathly afraid of hurting his child, his wife, of turning into _his_ father...

But, oh, she was tempting, and reassuring. He hadn't brought his fears to her attention, yet she knew, and didn't make him say it. One of many reasons why he loved her. And now, she was pressed so close, and soon he _should_ rise early, escape the bed before she woke and demanded whatever-it-was-this-time from him, and go about his morning. But he was achingly hard now, and he was stroking her back.

After a moment of deliberation more, he cast a few nonverbal spells to remove morning breath (he didn't normally care, but her breath while ill was near fetid), and to remove all pressure from both their bladders. No sense in sending her scurrying for the washroom now...

Carefully, he guided her to her back. She was a deep sleeper, he knew, remembering waking her this way on their first morning as husband and wife. Thanking Merlin that she had chosen to sleep nude, he threw his leg over one of hers and, pushing her curls aside with his nose, lowered his lips to her ear.

Tracing the shell of her ear, he moved to the lobe, sucking gently and slid his hand to a breast. They were slightly larger than they had been, but still as addictively soft and he couldn't help tugging at her nipples.

Hermione inhaled deeply in her sleep, moaning quietly. _Don't wake yet, _he thought. He wanted to see how much he could affect her before she did. She was so much more sensitive these days, and he wanted to enjoy everything he could before she demanded he fuck her.

Releasing the lobe of her ear, he nuzzled her neck, pressing kisses down the column of her throat, darting his tongue out to lick at her flesh. Just a bit of salt, but still that fresh, clean taste of her. He rumbled deep in his throat, and kissed the curve of her shoulder as his free hand kneaded her breast.

_My love. Mine._ Severus flicked his gaze upwards, confirming her continued slumber. He wet his lips in anticipation. He loved her breasts. The softness. The warmth. He'd been known to curl behind her in his sleep, cupping them with his large, rough hands. He loved to watch her nipples pebble, or suck them to little dark points in his mouth. The depth of his love and lust nearly shook him. He wanted to anoint her with his mouth, worship her as his goddess...

With a soft groan, he twisted one nipple with his long fingers, and laved the other with his tongue. Sweet mercy, she was divine! Exquisite. Lustrous, silky flesh that he tugged into his mouth and sucked at her.

"Severus!" Hermione gasped, eyes flying wide, suddenly awake, hands tugging at his scalp.

He released her breast from between his lips, raising hooded eyes to hers. With a wicked smirk, he ignored the pain of his hair, and pinched her nipple tightly, sucking long and deep at her breast. So good. The texture of her skin, the taste of her, the scent of her flesh, the feel of her fingers twining in his hair. He pulled at her breasts in a rhythm, mimicking what his child would do in a matter of weeks. She whimpered and her hips shifted as much as they could, pinned by his leg as they were.

He moved from her nipple to her breast itself, marking her with tongue and teeth. "You're pulling on my hair."

"Sorry," she said breathlessly, releasing the strands.

"Did you want me to stop?" Severus asked silkily.

"Oh, god, no, please don't stop, I've wanted you for days!" Hermione tried to reach for his erection, and he swatted her away.

"Days? And you haven't said anything?"

"You -"

"No," he interrupted. "You've been a very naughty witch, love. And if you've wanted me for days, surely I would be remiss in my - what did your mother call them? Husbandly duties? - if I did not provide you with the proper amount of pleasure."

"_Please_ don't bring up my parents in our bedroom."

Unrepentant, Severus pushed her knees further apart, skimming a warm hand down her rounded stomach. "Perhaps, Hermione, I should spank you, for neglecting to inform me of your...need."

"I can't really get on my stomach for that," she replied wryly, every inch of her wanting him to touch her already_. _

"Who said I was going to spank your bottom?" Severus swatted her labia and clit sharply, watching as she tossed her head back with a gasp. "Oh, how I've longed for this, Hermione..."

"To...to spank me like this?" Her voice started on a squeak and ended on a moan as he spanked her again. "God, that feels _good..._"

"Not just to spank you," he said in a low voice. He knew full well what the lower registers of his voice did to her. "But to touch you..." he dipped his fingers into her center. "So _wet_, Hermione... to pleasure you..."

She whimpered. His fingers felt amazing as they began to circle her clit. The light swats made the blood rush there, and she was so sensitive... he stopped circling and she lifted her head, dropping it as he spanked her again, then again..._oh, god, so good, Severus..._

"Breathe," he ordered, and she obeyed. She hadn't realised she was holding her breath. "Good girl...now... keep your hands there, love."

Hermione tightened her hold on the sheets. Oh, he was really going to do it...

Severus moved lower and spread her lips with two long fingers of one hand, and a finger from the other inside her. "You're so wet..."

Withdrawing his finger, he spanked her again, lightly, and kissed the inside of her thigh as her hips jerked. He wished he could see her face over the rise of her belly, but her reactions would have to do for now. "So lusciously slick..."

He murmured her name, and added another finger insider her as he sealed his lips over her clit and sucked gently. Oh, god, she was so wet for him. So bloody tight... The keening cry that accompanied the small tremor that overtook her was glorious, and he wanted to take her there again. As long as he was gentle, didn't push it, he could give her several small orgasms.

He waited until her hands unclenched in his peripheral vision, then began to curl his fingers inside of her. She began babbling, and he licked at the little pearl held so dearly in his mouth. _Delicious, succulent, oh, sweet Hermione...and mine, all mine..._

Hermione whimpered, legs trembling and toes curling. Fuck, she wanted to _come_, come hard, not these teasing little orgasms that left her wanting more. She wanted to grab him, push him to the bed, and ride him. She wanted him to _fuck her_.

"Severus!" she called as he brought her again. He raised his head, moving fingers to rub her clit insistently. His mouth with wet and he licked his lips slowly, the sweeping curve of his tongue making her shiver.

She shook, twisting her fingers in the bed, and finally burst out with, "_Please_, Severus! Oh, please, oh, please, I want you in me, I want you to fuck me...I want your _cock_ in me, hard and fast and deep, I want to _come_, oh please.."

He loved it when she swore, when she begged him. His lips curves into a lascivious smile as he watched her. She was nearly there, so ready to come... he waited until she was about to tip over that edge, and moved his hand away. Hermione tossed her head in frustration. _Oh, yes, love, I'll make you come, don't fret... you know I'll bring you pleasure..._

Moving between her legs, he was careful not to crush her belly as he slid home. _Oh, gods, oh, Merlin, **yes**, so sweet, so tight, oh, fuck, Hermione..._ She wrapped her legs around his waist and he began to move, tilting back to hit that spot inside her that – yes, there she went now, panting, flushing pink, eyes shut as her hands twisted helplessly. _Oh, yes, that's it, love, come, come for me, let me feel you..._

"Oh, Severus... SeverusSeverusSeverus...SEVERUS!" Hermione cried out and her back arched and she tightened around him, rippling and pulsing and his mouth ran dry. He fucked her through her orgasm, sending off smaller tremors, keeping her panting and moaning and clutching at his shoulders. She felt _so_ good, _so_ tight, _so_ wet...

He was nearly there. So close. He wanted to come. He was hard and wooden and she was fire and was making him _burn_. It seared up his spine and he thrust harder as her body gripped him, tight and hot and silken, and then he came, throwing his head back and exposing the long line of his neck as he groaned, deep and guttural, jerking his hips into her as she whimpered with each thrust. Slowing his thrusts, he gazed down at her hotly as his body emptied itself into hers. She was beautiful, so beautiful...

Hermione moaned and eventually lowered her legs as the aftershocks of her orgasms settled. Severus's arms were shaking, and he collapsed beside her, fingering her nipples briefly, hand coming to a rest on her stomach.

It had been glorious, he thought. Wonderful.

They lay together in companionable silence as their breathing slowed and hearts calmed.

"Severus?" Hermione managed finally, poking him in the side.

He lifted his head questioningly.

"I want soup."

Dropping his head down to the pillow with a groan. "Of course, dear. Whatever you want, dear."

* * *

And there you have it! A short finished fic. 3

Haven't edited yet, though, sorry.


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